


strange is your claim on me

by Emetic (orphan_account)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arranged Marriage, Birth Control Sabotage, Child murder mention, Hair Pulling, M/M, Pregnancy Kink, Threats, Trans Armitage Hux, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Wedding Night, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 08:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12908349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Emetic
Summary: The wedding ceremony had come to an end only minutes before. The night progressed to its final stage: the marriage bed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this over an hour and a half, idk if there'll ever be more. consider it a vignette for now
> 
> "clit" and "cunt" are used to describe hux's anatomy, so if that bugs you, don't proceed

“You risk putting yourself in great danger, my Lord,” Phasma said as she unfastened the final button lining the back of Armitage’s costume. The wedding ceremony had come to an end only minutes before. The night progressed to its final stage: the marriage bed. Still there were preparations to make.

“It’s already done,” Armitage said as he stepped out of the teal-colored garment, leaving it on the floor. Phasma bundled it up into her arms, the silky fabric draping over her strong forearms. “Would you have me annul my marriage in a single night?”

“If it’s true that the heir to the Organa clan has some sort of... _magic_ ,” Phasma began, spitting the word ‘magic’ as if it were impossible to fathom, “then there is no speculating what he could do to you.”

“That’s why I have you,” Armitage said, playing at being unbothered by the thought of coming under a terrible curse. Phasma had begun to anoint him with sweet-smelling oils along the soft insides of his elbows and knees. “Should you happen to catch him casting some sort of spell, I trust you to bring him to the sword.”

“My Lord.”

“Of course, you may decline,” Armitage watched himself in the long mirror mounted along the wall of the room. The lamplight made his hair gleam like polished copper. The soft peaks of his breasts and the line of his cunt shone pink against his ivory skin.

“There is a chance he may overpower you. From where we’re standing—“ He closed his eyes as Phasma’s fingers pressed his labia apart and spread oil there too until the red hair there was dark with wetness. “—he has limitless potential to cause harm. We won’t truly know what he is capable of until he deigns to show us.”

“I am your sword,” Phasma said without hesitation. She lidded the pot of oil and set it aside before standing. “If I should die, it will have been by my sworn duty to protect you.”

“Good,” Armitage said. He neatened his hair with his fingers. “We should join my husband.”

His suite of rooms was directly beside his new husband’s suite—rooms previously left vacant except for plain furnishings and hunting prizes—connected by their respective dressing rooms. Phasma walked ahead of Armitage, leading him through a comparatively sparse dressing room and into the opposite bedroom.

Rather than take advantage of the dressing room, the heir to Organa stood facing the wall as his appointed manservant wrestled him out of his robes. They were foolish things—black in color and fastened by a seemingly endless array of secret knots beneath each layer. Armitage had been told by his new mother-in-law during a tense display of amicability that the conspicuous fashions were the tradition of the self-proclaimed knights her son had once run off to join.

“Dopheld, Phasma will take over from here,” Armitage said as they entered. He gestured with his chin to the door. Dopheld kept his eyes down as he hurried to his feet, as if embarrassed by his Lord’s immodesty.

“Yes, my Lord,” Dopheld said and bowed his way to the door, backwards at first, and then nearly collided with the door frame. When the door had finally had shut soundly behind him, Armitage looked back to his husband with a calculating gaze.

“Kylo,” he said, though he was given no indication that the man heard him aside from the slight tilt of his head. He was still wearing that ghastly metal mask that Armitage had yet to see him without.

“Lord Hux is speaking to you,” Phasma growled, her hand moving to the sword at her hip, forgetting that Kylo was no less her master than Armitage was, now. Armitage held up a hand to quiet her. He could feel Kylo’s eyes on him behind his mask, sensing that he was being studied.

“Rid our Knight of his clothes,” Armitage said. He waited for some sort of tell as to what Kylo was thinking, but found no visible change. Phasma, meanwhile, was hesitating, and her leathers squeaked as she pivoted to face Armitage.

“I will attest to anyone that the marriage was consummated,” she said with hurried intensity. “You needn’t—“

“You have your orders,” Armitage said sternly, though his eyes lingered on the battle-scarred mask. He took a measured step forward and watched as Kylo’s muscles bunched with tension beneath his clothes. A warrior was always prepared for battle.

“Provided that my husband isn’t horribly ugly,” Armitage bargained as an afterthought. He closed the gap between himself and Kylo, reaching slowly for the mask that separated them. Before he could reach it, Kylo’s hand was closing around his wrist with a brutal strength. Armitage’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the scrape of Phasma’s sword being pulled free of its sheath.

“My cock will be more useful to you than my face,” Kylo said, his deep voice echoing within the metal mask.

“Shouldn’t I see your face before I decide if I’ll let you inside me?” Armitage countered. His fingers moved to Kylo’s shoulders instead, bare and marked with scars and dark moles.

“You will anyway,” Kylo said. That drew a surprised scoff out of Armitage, his mouth curving into a nasty smirk.

“Phasma,” Armitage said. Reluctantly, Phasma sheathed her sword and stepped forward to complete the job Dopheld had left. Kylo stood still as Phasma finished undressing him. 

Looking at him, Armitage felt waifishly thin by comparison. Kylo was strong and sturdy in a way that Armitage had once dreamt about but dismissed as an impossibility for himself. He had often wondered what it might be like to have a cock of his own, but never dared to dream that it might be as huge as the dick hanging heavy between Kylo’s legs. It was starting to thicken with arousal, bobbing and swaying with each pulse of blood that rushed to fill it.

“I thought you’d be reluctant,” Armitage chuckled. He reached to hold Kylo’s hair-covered balls in one small palm. The head of his dick drooled against the inside of Armitage’s arm in response.

“Why would I be?” Kylo prompted with the slightest tilt of his head. Without being able to see his face, it was the best indication of his expression.

“Doesn’t it worry you to be so far from home, put out to stud for the enemy?” Armitage’s fingers enclosed around Kylo’s cock and pumped it slowly as they spoke. Phasma had retreated to the door, standing by, watching. It may not have been in Armitage's best interest to taunt his new husband; relations between their respective families had not mended overnight by a single wedding.

“You’ll be the one whelping in the end,” Kylo said after a moment’s pause. “It sounds like I get the better part of the deal.”

Armitage stood with his mouth open, momentarily thrown off-balance by the comment. Kylo had begun to touch him, his strong hands taking hold of the backs of Armitage’s thighs and guiding them apart, opening him up. Faintly, Armitage could sense his own rapid heartbeat in his clit. Kylo’s back curved slightly as he drew Armitage closer, leaning over him.

“You’ll love our children,” Kylo said after a moment, his voice a low rasp as Armitage guided Kylo’s cockhead to budge against his clit, momentarily satisfying the throbbing. “That will be the worst fate of all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look i wrote actual sex

Had theirs been a marriage of love, there might have been time to get to know each other. Perhaps they would have traded evenings in each other’s parlor, swapping tales from their childhoods. Kylo may have courted Armitage with poetry on every meeting. The two of them may have sat in companionable silence among the Organa family’s expansive gardens beneath the moonlight. They may have come to know each other’s hearts in the way that only lovers can—love for the sake of love, relation or blood be damned. They may have fantasized about a life together: little boys and girls born from their union, height markings carved into door frames of a summer cottage they had not yet built but hoped to.

That sweet dream would have been free of tense silence, financial negotiations, and wartime truces. In the end they would retire to their marriage bed and make love for the first time, heated breaths intermingling, and Kylo’s seed would be left to quicken but fate would allow them to wait until the time was right. Their children would know the warmth of a family that loved them, and their lives would never be leveraged for wealth or power.

“I was promised a virgin,” Kylo huffed after the first push of his hips, sinking halfway into Armitage’s body. Armitage laughed deliriously as his eyes rolled with pleasure, luxuriating in the slow push of the cock inside him, abandoning any fantasies of a chaste and loving relationship.

“Oh, is that what you were told?” he taunted, breathless. “You were— _hah_ —played for a fool...” His back arched as Kylo jerked his hips, burying the rest of his dick inside.

“There are many things I would have expected of Brendol but I didn’t expect him to send a whore to bed with me,” Kylo said, though there was no real vitriol there. Armitage could sense his fascination even from behind that ghoulish mask of his.

“Your mother didn’t warn you of my family’s improprieties? Are you certain you weren’t wedded to me as punishme- _he-n’t_ —fuck, your cock is so big.” Armitage felt a hot flush coming over him, starting at the tips of his ears and creeping in ruddy blotches down his neck and chest. When he sat up on his elbows, he saw the pink border of it slipping between his breasts. His eyes were drawn to the swelling between his hips though, and he shakily rested his hand over the thin flesh of his belly where it appeared as if Kylo’s cock were attempting to fuck through him.

Kylo began a rhythm of thrusts, each drag of his cock giving Armitage the sensation of being deliciously close to splitting in two. He groaned despite himself and heard the quiet creaking of Phasma’s armor as she observed, uncertain if the sound was one of pain or pleasure.

It was a hungry sort of suffering, the kind that feels simultaneously sickening and insatiable. Armitage imagined his guts being stirred up by Kylo’s cock as he shoved into him again and again, forcibly making space for himself in Armitage’s body and existence. It was grotesque and he craved more.

Armitage had the faintest sense that this was not supposed to be pleasurable. If he were sane and proper, he would lie back and think of all that this joining would accomplish between their clans and trade his honor for his duty. He might even weep when it all was said and done, crying with the grief of losing his freedom. Instead he was wondering if it was possible to rupture something from such a deep fucking, and reached for his clit.

Kylo’s breath was coming in heavy pants behind his mask. Armitage caught the occasional glimpse of dark eyes behind the visor, glossy with pleasure. Kylo pulled back a little to watch as Armitage pleasured himself, rubbing roughly at the slick little nub between his legs and gazing up at Kylo with unveiled lust. A strained gurgle climbed from Armitage's chest in spite of himself as Kylo’s huge cock bottomed out again. His free hand found Kylo’s thigh and blunt nails dug in to the scarred flesh, urging him ever closer.

“Don’t move,” Armitage groaned, his hips jerking against Kylo’s cock, trying unsuccessfully to pull it even deeper inside. “Don’t move, don’t—“

Kylo pulled away from the insistent grasp of Armitage’s cunt and watched with palpable amusement as the heir to clan Hux gave a miserable moan of frustration and dropped his head back. His cunt clenched and fluttered, spasming around nothing, empty despite his best efforts.

“You—bastard—“ Armitage gasped as he came down from his orgasm, aching, and it quickly turned into a howl as Kylo aligned their bodies and thrust in to the base all at once. His body thrummed with oversensitivity, overwhelmed by the urge to squirm away from the stimulation, but Kylo had a tight hold on his thighs.

"I've heard that you were a bastard," Kylo said. His dark curls fell from beneath the mask and hung in limp, sweaty strands around the metal. "From common stock. If it weren't for Brendol's generosity in legitimizing you, you'd be working in a kitchen somewhere. It would suit you."

Armitage could remember being twelve years old and gutting another boy with a letter opener for a similar comment. Brendol had legitimized him soon after. His step-mother remarked that it was an act of generosity, as she provided him with no living sons. Armitage suspected it may have been fear, though—fear that one day he might face the blade as that already half-forgotten boy had.

It would be a lie if Armitage were to say that he had never considered it at length.

Lacking a letter opener or any other weapon, Armitage reached for Kylo’s hair. He curled his fingers into a handful of black curls and tugged as hard as he could. It was a juvenile attack, surely, but he heard Kylo gasp with pain and then suddenly go rigid. Half-delirious, Armitage hoped that this would be enough to spark a display of magic, some excuse to cut Kylo down early, but the thought was gone just as soon as it had come.

Armitage glanced down over his own heaving chest at the space where their bodies joined. Kylo’s muscular abdomen was tight as he tried to control his breathing, attempting to stave off orgasm. Kylo shifted his hips as he reached down to pull himself out.

Deciding that this could not be allowed, Armitage swung his legs over Kylo’s hips and pressed his heels into his back. Kylo grunted as he was forced ever deeper, though the sound quickly turned into a defeated moan. Armitage could feel the pulsing of Kylo’s cock as it filled him with hot seed, an offering that his cunt greedily accepted in measured pulls.

Armitage loosened his grip on Kylo once the cock inside him had gone soft. Kylo grunted as he pulled out. Armitage wished he could see his face, desperate to know if he was troubled by his cum drooling from Armitage’s well-used hole. There were only so many outcomes.

They breathed in unison for a few brief moments before Kylo rolled away onto his side. Armitage propped himself up on an elbow and reached down to feel where his body remained open, aching but satiated. Kylo’s purpose had been served.

When the post-coital trembling had passed, Armitage stood and wiped cum from his inner thigh with the flat of his palm.

“It is done, then,” he said lazily, sparing only a glance back at his new husband. He turned to Phasma, who had stood at attention as she bore witness to their joining.

“Summon Dopheld. Ensure that he provides Lord Kylo with clean linens,” he directed. Phasma gave a sharp nod and, casting a wary glance at Kylo’s reclining form, left the room.

There was silence between them. Armitage felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickle with a sudden fear of being alone and unprotected, but after a moment, the encroaching sensation of danger passed. Without a word to Kylo, he strode to the door that connected their suites and passed through into his own block.

When he had reached his bed chamber, he stood with his back against the door and listened for footsteps. After a minute had crawled by, he turned the key in the lock.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the poem "arranged marriage" by thavaseelan gopinathan


End file.
